To Be, or Not To Be
by TrueDemigodishness
Summary: Thoughts from Tartarus.


**To Be, or Not To Be**

**This is Shakespeare, right here. For real.**

**Disclaimer: I am not Shakespeare, obviously, as I am neither British nor a gentleman nor, you know, dead. Therefore, I do not own ****_Hamlet_****, or the quotations therefrom that are used herein. I also do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians/Heroes of Olympus, any affiliated characters, events, etc. If I did, Percy and Annabeth would not be in this situation.**

**Warning: Depressing. Mild references to suicide. (I used to be a happy person, really; then came Mark of Athena . . .)**

_"To be, or not to be: that is the question."_

_Hamlet_, at a time like this! She almost laughed aloud-a hysterical giggle already bubbling up inside her at the sheer absurdity-but she held it in with firm ferocity, her life-long "stubborn streak" kicking in as she reduced herself to chortling silently, teeth bared in an almost deranged grimace, air wheezing pitifully through her parched, constricted throat. A part of her raged-at the Fates, the gods, the _world_-that this was the only laughter she had felt for-how long?-and it was so bitter, so harsh, so _wrong_.

She was mad (in both senses fo the word), and she knew it; she could feel the insanity creeping through her brain-her precious brain-like the overwhelming darkness that surrounded them, a dense fog weighing down her thoughts, twisting them them, tendrils, somehow solidifying, tearing into her mind like vicious, wriggling, destructive worms. She was losing it-her grip on reality-slowly, but surely, and the small part of her that was still _her_ was rebelling, being eaten alive by that fact, and slowly, gradually being overcome by a gripping panic. She was beginning now to understand hte way her mother had acted-the way her mother had _felt_-at their last meeting. Ultimately, she was completely and utterly terrified. Of all the horrible things down here, this, for her, was the absolute worst.

Yet even as that horrible, twisted, bitter laugh escaped her, she realized that, perhaps, this _particular_ passage of _Hamlet_ was oddly appropriate to the setting.

_"Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune"_

Outrageous fortune, indeed! She did snort a laugh, softly, at that and felt him turn and gently squeeze her hand. Squeezing back to let him know she was okay, she barely even broke from her thoughts before turning back.

_"Outrageous fortune"?_ she thought bitterly. Well, that pretty much summed up her life. To have let herself love, to have then _declared_ that love, only to have him kidnapped by the goddess of _marriage_ (who, of all people, really should have know better). To have finally won the war only to have to face a worse one. To have reunited at last with her Seaweed Brain only for them to fall into Hell together. To have defeated her worst nightmare only to fall to worse.

Worse than she could ever have imagined.

_"Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them."_

Definitely a sea of troubles: you couldn't take two steps down here with out running into some fresh horror. Troubles were so bad down here, she wasn't even sure you could still call them "troubles"; she was beginning to forget that good even existed in the world (except that _he was there_). If they did survive, they were most definitely going to have PTSD for _life_.

Ditto on the "taking arms against" them and the "opposing" part: they never stopped fighting, even if she knew-she supected they both knew-deep down-that there was no real hope for them, no way this was gonna end with a "happily ever after." It was never really going to end. But they fought. They fought for the world, sure. For their families and friends. They fought because it was becoming mechanical now, like breathing, or blinking (_Blink-there goes another_). They fought because they were both far too stubborn to just give up. Because Percy wouldn't let anyone down and she woudn't let him fight alone-wouldn't let him _be_ alone. But mostly they fought for each other. Always for each other. Because if one stopped . . .-they were together and that was all that mattered, but it only takes one to close the doors, and they fought for the sheer possibility of saving the other.

The problem came with the "end them" part. It just wasn't happening. Where do monsters go when they are killed? Tartarus. Where were they? Oh, yeah, Tartarus. Every monster they killed just came back. Over and over. Maybe far enough away that it was awhile before they ran into them again (literally, in the dark), but eventually, they always came back. And even more monsters were constantly popping up out of nowhere having been killed above.

There was no "end."

It was a never-ending cycle.

_"To die, to sleep: no more. And by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to"_

She was _so_ tired.

Tired of all the monsters, the fighting.

Tired of always working so hard to be the perfect Athena-child.

Tired of being used by the gods.

Tired of the _heartache_, of losing friends one by one.

Tired of war. _Futile_,_ unnecessary_ war.

Tired of _being a demigod_.

She just wanted it all to _end_.

So tired.

She thought of Silena and Beckendorf together in Elysium, happy. Forever.

So tired.

It would be so easy. Down here. Down where there's a death-trap around every (invisible) corner.

So easy.

So tired.

_"'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished."_

_So. Tired._

A part of her thought about death-really considered it-but that part wasn't _her_. It was that wretched insanity.

but there was still enough of her left that she fought it; there always would be as long as _he_ was there, by her side, helping her stand when she was weak, fight when she was scared.

Yeah, she was tired-so was he.

But he was there.

And he always would be.

Therefore, so would she.


End file.
